


i'm here now;

by kinneyb



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 07:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18566524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Quentin is given a choice: go back to his friends or finally find eternal peace.It's not an easy choice, but he's confident he chose the right one.





	i'm here now;

**Author's Note:**

> i know i have my other fix-it fic but this was just something short i wanted to do on the side  
> no worries i'm still working on the other fic, too
> 
> ★ please follow me on twitter @ queermight & check out my pinned tweet! ★

Quentin steps through the door, and pauses -

He's not sure what he'd been expecting, but a dark room with a hooded figure was low on the list. He almost laughs. 

After everything, even sacrificing himself, had he been doomed to an eternity of suffering?

He looks down, but his MetroCard is gone. Nowhere to be seen. He's pretty sure that's not supposed to happen. Quentin pats his pockets, searches the floor, but nope - it was _definitely_ missing.

"Looking for this?" 

Quentin snaps his head back up. Right, creepy hooded figure. For some reason, for once in his life, he wasn't really scared. Or nervous. Maybe because he was already dead.

His eyes focus on the card floating in front of the hooded figure's face (or lack thereof, considering Quentin couldn't see shit).

"Uh," he speaks finally, "could I have that back?"

The figure hums thoughtfully. Quentin isn't sure, but he thinks it's a male of some kind, probably, because his voice is insanely deep. Then again, he'd been surprised many times over the years.

Never judge a book by its cover. Or voice.

"Do you know who I am, Quentin?" the figure asks slowly. The card keeps floating.

Quentin raises an eyebrow. "Obviously not," he replies, extending his hand out. "Now can I please have that back? I've had a rough day, buddy."

He thinks about his friends mourning, the odd pain of those little lights ripping through his body, eating him alive. Of Penny's face when they'd finally said goodbye.

"Do you wish to die?" the figure steps forward, and the card drops to the floor. 

Quentin considers trying to grab it, but somehow he doesn't think that's a good idea right now. _Later_ , he decides. Looking up, he laughs. A little hysterical, on edge. "Pretty sure that already happened. You're a little late to the party."

"No, no," the figure steps closer, but Quentin still can't make out his face.

Suddenly, a chill runs down his spine. He steps back. 

"You are dead, yes, but not gone."

Quentin doesn't laugh this time, just steps back further. "I've had some prior experience with the Underworld," he says. "I don't remember seeing you, though."

"You wouldn't have," the figure lifts a hand, waving him off like the mere thought is foolish. Quentin catches sight of his skin - it's a terrible dull color, lifeless. "I come here on behalf of our Lord," the figure continues after a moment, and what he does next truly surprises Quentin. Like pure, unadulterated shock.

He drops to his knees in front of him, bowing.

"Our Lord wishes to thank you," he says, "for helping us with what could've been a problem."

Quentin blinks rapidly. His brain isn't really working. "What - what are you - "

"The Monster and his sister," the figure looks up, and finally Quentin can see his face; he's not a pretty thing by any means, face full of wrinkles and scars. "Our Lord was afraid of what they might do with access to the scroll." He smiles, showing off crooked, sharp teeth. "But you intervened before that could happen."

Quentin swallows around the lump in his throat. "We - we all did," he chokes out finally. "My friends helped, you know."

"Yes, of course," the figure stands. "But they are not within our Lord's jurisdiction."

Quentin nods slowly. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he admits. 

Suddenly, the figure stops. He looks up. "Yes, as you wish," he says. Quentin watches, narrowing his eyes. He looked like he was... talking to someone, but Quentin looks up and there's no one in the room with them. Or even anything that looks like it could be used for communication. Stranger things have happened, though.

"He wishes to see you," the figure says, looking at Quentin. 

Quentin laughs sharply. "Why do I have a feeling I don't have a choice in the matter?"

"You do not," the figure replies, weirdly chipper. 

Quentin steps back, but he doesn't get far before his vision darkens.

/

When he wakes up, he's in a different room - an office, really, with a desk and a chair and bookshelves. He looks around slowly. It almost feels like... a real room, back on Earth. His heart skips a beat.

Then, a figure appears in front of him, seeming to appear out of thin air, and he's not proud of the way he screeches, scrambling to get as far away as possible. That's when he notices he's on a couch of some kind, brown and worn.

"Quentin Coldwater," it's not the same creature as before, but a man this time, no hood or anything to hide his face. His skin is dark, and he's handsome. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He blinks a few times. "Uh," he replies lamely.

"Right," with a flick of his wrist, the desk chair scoots across the room. He sits primly, clearing his throat. "You're probably wondering who I am."

Quentin smiles nervously. "A little," he croaks.

"I'm Hades," the man replies, extending a hand and waiting.

Quentin stares at his hand, eyes wide. " _Fuck_ ," he mutters. "Am I seriously going to Hell?"

"No, no," Hades laughs, a deep resounding noise that Quentin feels in his veins somehow. Quentin feels control of his hand slip away. He watches, slightly stunned, as his hand lifts to shake Hades' involuntarily. "You made many mistakes, Quentin, but no."

Quentin swallows audibly. "Okay," he says. "Then... why am I here?"

"I wish to make you an offer," Hades replies, and Quentin feels control of his hand slowly return. He pulls his hand back, resting it in his lap. "As a proper thank you for what you did for us - for all of the Old Gods."

Quentin laughs a little. He doesn't know what else to do. 

"I want to give you an option," Hades turns a bit, and snaps his fingers. A door appears in the room; it's quite plain, made of wood with some leaves poking out. He turns back. "That door will allow you to go back."

Quentin can't take his eyes off the door. It's plain, but... the energy pouring off it is powerful, beautiful even. "What do you mean back?"

"To Earth," Hades replies easily. "But you do not have to go," he continues after a moment. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You are not going to Hell, Quentin. What awaits you will be peace. Like you've never known. Most people can't say no to that, and you shouldn't have to."

Quentin nods slowly, barely absorbing the words. 

"Your friends," Hades continues, the hint of a smile on his face, "they will all be joining you there when it's their time."

Quentin feels weirdly happy knowing that. He thinks of Julia, Alice, Eliot - all of them. They deserve to know peace after everything they've been through. His lips twitch, and soon he finds himself smiling. "I'm glad," he says airily.

"It is your choice," he says, gesturing toward the door. "Do what you want."

Quentin thinks he deserves it, too - real, uninterrupted peace. He swallows thickly, closing his eyes. But then he remembers Julia's face; she'd been holding back at the bonfire - maybe no one else could tell, but he was her best friend. He remembers the joy he'd felt at finally, finally seeing Eliot again.

Or Alice extending a hand to Eliot, choking up, saying words will never be enough.

His cheeks feel wet. He reaches up to wipe his tears away roughly.

"Why are you crying?" Hades asks, and he sounds genuinely baffled. "I should this would be a proper gift."

Quentin laughs wetly, finally opening his eyes. "It is," he says. "I want to go back."

Hades nods. He barely moves his finger, and the door moves closer. "This courtesy will not be extended again," he says. 

Quentin stands up. He nods curtly.

"So please," Hades says, and Quentin isn't looking but he can _hear_ the smile in his voice. "Do not die prematurely again."

/

Quentin wakes up in the middle of the woods. He laughs loudly, looking up at the sky. "Wow, thanks," he says, but he smiles and jumps up. Looking around, he squints because something about this place seems oddly familiar.

Shrugging, he starts to walk. He doesn't have shoes on, so he walks slowly, avoiding stepping on anything sharp.

That's when he sees it, the cottage, through a gap of trees. He stops abruptly, his eyes burning with tears. 

"Q - Quentin?"

He turns. Margo is standing just outside the line of trees.

He lets out a choked sob. "Margo," he says - it's not a question. She's there, looking as beautiful as ever. Even if her eyes are swollen and she's dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Quentin doesn't wait any longer. He runs toward her, laughing. She is waiting, arms outstretched, when he gets there. She buries her face in his neck, and he buries his face in her hair.

"Oh my God," she cries, hugging him close. "How the fuck are you here right now?"

She pulls back, eyes wet. "This better not be a dream."

"It's not," he says, smiling a little. "It's a long story, but - I'm here."

She nods slowly. Then, she pulls her hand back and slaps him across the face. Quentin doesn't even feel the pain. He's too happy. 

"You fucking asshole," she hisses, tears streaming down her face. "Do you know how upset we all were?" she continues, basically gasping for air now. "Do you know how hard it is, on top of missing you, to see - to see Eliot like _this_?"

His happiness falters a bit. He swallows thickly. "Eliot," he licks his lips. "Fuck."

Margo nods curtly, cupping his face. "Please go see him. I didn't know how to fix this."

Quentin kisses her once on the cheek. "I have a lot of fixing to do," he says before slipping out of her arms. 

When he enters the cottage, he almost wants to just - 

Just sit down on the stairs and memorize every detail he never thought was important until now; the smell, the feeling of the wood under his feet, the dozens of books on shelves no one really reads. 

But he doesn't have the option because he sees her seconds later, standing at the top of the stairs. She looks good, actually, better than she'd looked at the bonfire. Her hair is pulled back for once, though, in a messy bun. Her eyes are a little puffy.

"Alice," he says. He doesn't know what else to say.

"Q - Quentin?" she asks. She stares at him, eyes wide. "Margo," she croaks soon after.

Margo steps forward to stand by Quentin's side. "You're not dreaming," is all she says.

When Alice comes running down the stairs, Quentin almost laughs. She jumps into his arms, and he doesn't even care that they fall to a heap on the floor. She's crying, loudly, in his ear and he feels something terrible swimming in his stomach. He doesn't want to hurt her ever again, but that means no more lying -

convincing himself this is what he wants just because it's comfortable, familiar.

Slowly, he pulls away, petting her hair softly. "Alice."

She stares at him, searching his eyes. He tries to think of the nicest way to put this, but there is no nice way. Just honest.

"I'm not an idiot," she says.

Quentin blinks. He hugs her tighter. "I love you, too, Alice," he replies. 

"Just not... the way you used to." 

She looks away. He wants to say _no, that's not true_ just to make her happy again, but he can't. Not anymore. 

They slowly get up off the floor. Alice takes his hand, squeezing. "You should go see him."

He nods. "I am."

"Don't fuck it up, okay?" Alice smiles sadly.

He squeezes her hand back. "I won't."

/

Quentin lingers outside Eliot's door. He doesn't know what to expect. Or what to say.

Actually, he has an idea, but he's never been good with words and he's afraid of fucking this up. Of losing Eliot _again_ , maybe for the last time. 

But then he hears it -

the gentle, familiar sound of crying. 

Quentin can't wait a second longer. He knocks.

"Margo," Eliot says. His voice is scratchy, hoarse. Quentin almost doesn't recognize it. "I told you I just wanted to be alone for a - "

Taking a deep breath, Quentin grabs the handle and opens the door. Eliot startles, looking up. "I _told_ you," he starts to repeat, but stops abruptly when his eyes finally focus on Quentin. He doesn't say or do anything, just stares blankly.

Quentin slowly steps closer. "El?"

"I - " Eliot laughs wetly, rubbing at his eyes roughly. "Fuck, I am so fucking pathetic."

Quentin isn't sure he's ever felt more like an asshole than he does in this exact moment, seeing Eliot so upset and broken and angry. Not at Quentin, but at _himself_. "El," he repeats softly. "It's me."

"Fuck off," Eliot buries his face in his hands. "I'm so fucking tired. Please."

Quentin sits on the bed, and maybe that's what finally makes Eliot think _hey, maybe this is real_ , because he looks up, takes a shaky breath. 

"Q?" he asks in a voice so small Quentin thinks just briefly of Teddy when he was a child, asking for Arielle after she'd passed away.

He nods quickly and gives the best smile he can. "Eliot, I'm here. It's me."

Eliot slowly reaches out, touching his face. He laughs once, sharply. "I - I don't know what to say," he whispers. "I didn't think... I'd see you again."

"That's okay," Quentin replies softly, reaching up to take his hand. He squeezes gently. "Just listen."

Eliot nods mutely, staring at his face like he's afraid if he looks away for even just a second he'll disappear.

"I know you think I'm straight and you're like some kind of exception to the rule," Quentin says, "but you're not. I've never dated a guy, maybe, but I've had crushes before. I don't like you despite you being a guy, I like you for who you are. And that includes _every_ part of you." Taking a deep breath, he leans forward and gently kisses his lips. "I want to give us a shot, El, if... if that's something you want, too."

Eliot leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. "Okay," he says, breathless.

Quentin laughs a little, kissing him again. "I want to do that," he smiles brightly, "many more times, but... there's one more thing I have to do."

/

Quentin finds Julia in the library, slowly flipping through a book. He can tell she isn't really reading. Her eyes are distant. She's frowning.

He steps forward, and apparently she hears him because she looks up. And what kills him is the way her expression shifts, like she's building a wall right in front of him, a protective barrier. Her face hardens, lips pressing into a thin line.

But then their eyes meet, and the barrier melts away.

"Q?" she asks, slowly standing up. The book drops to the floor, but no one cares.

He can't wait a second longer; running to her, he picks her up and spins her around. Julia laughs, a sudden sharp sound, and hugs him for support. When he sets her back down, she laughs again, a little softer.

"I was - " she gestures to the book. 

Quentin glances at the book, and his heart skips a beat. He hadn't even noticed at first, but now that he's looking closely... he recognizes the book easily. She'd been studying to find a way to save him. It's such a Julia thing to do he almost wants to weep, but he decides he's done enough crying.

"You were," he agrees, laughing. "But you know magic can't bring people back to life, Jules."

Julia shrugs. "I - I didn't care," she says, strangely confident. "I was going to find a way."

"And you probably would have," Quentin says fondly. "I don't doubt that for a minute."

She presses a hand to her mouth. That doesn't stop the sob that crawls up her throat. "I don't," she says. "I don't know what to do. I'm so," she gestures helplessly. "I missed you, Q. Like _so_ much. I didn't know what to do without you."

"I know," he replies. Slowly, he wraps her up in another hug. "But I'm here now."


End file.
